


Too smart for her own good

by Des98



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Parentlock, Serbia - Freeform, Sherlock's scars, cute and funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:47:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11927976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des98/pseuds/Des98
Summary: Rosie sees her daddy's scars from his time away one day, and decides to do something about it.  No one hurts her Sherlock and gets away with it.





	Too smart for her own good

Rosalind Holmes-Watson was a very practical girl, but she knew she didn’t have all the answers. Following that logic, when she had a question about what she was reading in one of her daddy’s chemistry books, she went to daddy and papa’s bedroom to ask. All thoughts of chemistry, however, were wiped from her mind as she saw her daddies having sex. The sex wasn’t what surprised her, no- the six-year-old had known about it for two years, when she saw the word printed on a billboard and asked Uncle Mycroft about it. No, what caught her off guard was the fact that her daddy’s back was covered in so many scars, gruesome, painful looking scars. Rosie felt the scar on her elbow from when she fell playing football with her best friend Graham (Aunt Molly and Uncle Greg’s son) itch in sympathy.  
She had walked in on her daddies having sex once or twice before, but papa was usually on top, so she had never seen this. Quietly, she snuck back upstairs to her bedroom unnoticed. She grabbed her nerf gun, wrote a note to her dads, and slipped over to Nana Hud’s flat next door.  
Nana, as usual, was overjoyed to see her, and stuffed her full of biscuits from a plate absolutely overflowing with them (no surprise, as Nana always baked a lot when she took her “herbal supplements,” as daddy called them, not that Rosie was fooled. 420 blaze it, Nana). Once she had eaten enough that she would not be eating any of the takeaway papa ordered after his inevitable failed attempt to cook (it was a nightly ritual. Rosie thought that daddy should just make dinner, but he said that papa wasn’t to know he was a gourmet connoisseur, as it might make papa feel bad about his prided skills in the “domestic arts.”), she broached the subject with her Nana.  
“Nana, do you know who hurt my daddy?” she asked, brushing crumbs off of her pink lab apron.  
“What do you mean, darling?” Mrs. Hudson’s brows wrinkled in concern, and Rosie deduced. So Nana didn’t know about the scars; and it wouldn’t do any good to tell her and make her sad.  
“Oh, nothing. He just seemed sad today. Must’ve had a hard case.” She lied vaguely, glad that Nana was high enough that she wouldn’t think to bring up this conversation with her dads and ruin her plans.  
   
Rosie was quieter than usual at dinner that night, but her papa was tired from his day at the clinic and subsequent “exercise” with daddy, so he didn’t pick up on it, and although Sherlock’s skills were as sharp as usual, he never suspected anything of his “little baby girl” which worked well to her advantage. As to her diminished appetite, he could indubitably smell the pot smoke and know that Mrs. Hudson would have fed her.  
When daddy was tucking her in that night, he asked “Do you have any questions, my little bumblebee?” It was their nightly ritual: Sherlock always gave her a chance to express any confusion about something she’d seen or read or heard or done that day, but Rosie was so absorbed in her plans that she forgot to ask that question about particle accelerators that begat this whole situation. Damn.  
Rosie was thrilled when Daddy walked her to school the next day, as Papa would have recognized her “plotting face” (unbeknownst to Rosie, it was the same face Mary used to make when she had something secret brewing, and this always put John on edge). But Daddy, well, she was Daddy’s angel, his only blind spot, and she knew that the rest of her plan would be easy-peasy from here. She and Sherlock bought fish and chips for breakfast and ate them as they walked, and if she hugged him a little tighter than usual as they reached the playground, he didn’t comment as he kissed her blond curls as wished her a lovely day before turning to walk back home to his still-slumbering husband, smiling in contentment.  
Rosie, on the other hand, snuck back out the other side of the school yard unnoticed, grabbed her pocket money from the pocket of her rucksack (more than enough for ten bus fares, because like she said, Daddy spoiled her rotten) and made sure her nerf gun was loaded and she had the needle full of sedatives she took from Papa’s office the last time she was there when the secretary wasn’t looking (She had her daddy’s copious intelligence but her papa’s tendency to think in terms of “just in case,” and all this made for a particularly dangerous six-year-old). Then she boarded the bus and paid the fare, ignoring the driver’s strange looks (she would have finished her mission long before the indecisive little man decided whether or not he should contact anyone about the little girl alone on the bus, and she knew this).  
She got off a block away from Scotland yard and started walking towards the secret back entrance that only she, Daddy, and Papa knew about. It was time to see Uncle Greg.  
She marched right into the detective inspector’s office, sending Sally a disdainful look scarily reminiscent of her Daddy, despite their completely opposite coloring. She was in the door and startling Greg before the other officer had time to react.  
“Rose? What are you doing here? It’s a school day? Do your dads know you’re here? What am I saying? Of course they don’t- Sherlock would never let you cross town alone.”  
“Do you know who hurt my daddy?” Rosie asked, cutting off his tirade.  
Whatever Lestrade had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. “What?”  
Ah, so he didn’t know either. No matter, he was tougher than Mrs. Hudson, and she needed him to help her solve this very important case.  
“The scars on his back. Someone hurt him really bad, and I got a problem with it.” She responded, cocking her nerf gun.  
“Scars on his back? What do you mean, he’s been with me on every case and he’s never gotten any- oh god, his two years away… I don’t- why wouldn’t John? Damn?”  
Rosie watched his internal battle for approximately thirty seconds before her impatient nature won out and she kicked the leg of her chair to get his attention.  
“So, what’re you waiting for? Let’s figure it out and kick some arse!”  
“Okay Rosie, I promise you I will definitely look into this, but it is no place for a child, especially one who is currently missing class right now.”  
“It’s first grade and the teacher is stupid. I should be teaching her.” Rosie pouted, annoyed that Uncle Greg wasn’t getting the point here.  
“Well, it’s legally mandated no matter how ‘stupid’ the teacher is, and your parents currently think you’re somewhere you are not, so I am going to have them come get you,” Lestrade said sternly.  
“Can you call…?”  
“I’m not stupid Rosie, I’m calling both of them. I know that all you’d have to do with Sherlock is cock your head and bat your eyes and John would never hear about your sojourn.”  
Rosie crossed her arms and pouted again, and not even the usual pastime of insulting Donovan could coax her out of her silence.  
Sherlock and John both walked into the office, John going over to talk to Greg and try to get more detail than he had been given on the phone while Sherlock went over to Rosie, picking her up and checking her over for any injury from her bus ride across town. Satisfied, he pulled a twig out of her hair and fixed her little Belstaf coat before kissing her cheek and giving her a gentle reprimand.  
John, on the other hand, looked simultaneously pained and irritated as he turned away from his conversation with Lestrade. “What were you thinking, young lady? And how did you even know about this?”  
“Bad people hurt daddy. I want them to know that’s not okay.”  
“But how did you see those scars, Rosie-Posy? Papa and I were very careful to keep them from you until you were old enough to talk about it.” Sherlock asked her gently, holding her tighter.  
“I saw them when you and Papa were making love.”  
“What?!” Three voices cried out at once.  
“Yeah, Uncle Mycroft told me about it forever ago. I’m not stupid. You and Daddy do it because you love each other, and some people use it to make babies. Myc says it’s a multi-faceted technique.”  
“I’m going to kill him; you aren’t old enough to know.” Sherlock growled, holding her even tighter, so that Rosie had to brace her hands against his chest so she had room to breathe.  
“Oh, so when Mycroft gives our daughter ‘the talk’ that’s reason to anger, but him watching you get beaten for information in an underground cell is ‘just politics,’” his husband ground out.  
“John, now is not the time to have this discussion again.” Sherlock reminded him firmly, cupping his hands over their daughter’s ears and willfully ignoring Lestrade’s impression, a myriad of shock, pain, and anger.  
The doctor breathed out slowly. “You’re right love, I’m sorry. We should get home.”  
“It’s fine John, I know this is a touchy subject for you. I’ll call a cab, we can pick up a pizza on the way.” He booped Rosie’s nose and broke out in the wide grin only his husband and daughter brought to his face.  
“Yay!” Rosie raised her pudgy little fist in a gesture of victory, as even incredibly genius children can be derailed from their purpose with tasty goodies.  
“No, no, no, we are not getting pizza, young lady. You are in trouble. We are going to go home, have the thing with the peas, and have a long discussion about how we deal with these kinds of situations.” The little blonde’s face fell, as did Sherlock’s at the mention of the promised discussion, so painful to his husband and surely no less painful for his daughter. At least John was making the thing with the peas; he liked that even better than pizza.  
As the happy-but-not-right-now little family was preparing to leave, Lestrade held Sherlock back for a moment.  
“We are going to talk about this,” he whispered into the consulting detective’s ear, too low for Rosie to hear. “No more cases until you give me a full statement.”  
Sherlock’s face fell for a moment, but he perked up almost immediately- he could never stay even the slightest bit upset with his little daughter in his arms, even if said daughter was extremely disgruntled about the lack of pizza.


End file.
